Until Everything Is Perfect Again
by HigherMagic
Summary: AU, Castiel's POV: In a world where Angels and demons are used as pets and Hunting companions, Castiel is sold to Dean. Unfortunately, the family has only ever had demons before, and they're not sure how to handle this new pet - least of all Azazel, who seems determined to make Castiel disappear. Contains character death, violence, language and an M rated scene.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Until Everything Is Perfect Again  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Artist: **demonichate  
**Fandom/Genre:** Supernatural, Family/Romance  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel, canon marriage pairings, Sam/Ruby (mentioned), unrequited Mary/Azazel.**  
Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count: **23,214**  
Warnings:** character death, angst, wing!kink, soul bonding, schmoop  
**Summary:** In a world where Angels and Demons have been tamed to use as pets and Hunting companions, Castiel and Ruby are both friends and protectors of Sam and Dean. We follow Castiel and Dean's life through the Angel's eyes as they track down the Yellow-Eyed Demon after Mary's death, and how Dean will never let Castiel close in the way the Angel so desperately wants until he is dead.

Written for the DeanCasBigBang over at Livejournal. Enjoy!

* * *

The world is small, warm and dull.

I don't have very many memories of my time in my egg, up to when I opened my eyes for the first time, but every moment since then has been utter clarity. We never forget, we never move on. I suppose we're like dogs that way; loyal to the Hunter we're bonded with until the very end and yet at the same time all connected, bound to something higher. Angels and Demons alike are used as tools, weapons for Hunting other things with our partners, but we're treated…well, we're treated like pets. Like we're not intelligent, like we're here to be ordered around and told what to do.

I never really had a problem with that until I was older. Because my Hunter…Dean…he didn't treat me like a pet. He treated me like a partner. There are instincts inside of me that I have to admit are very animal-like, like wanting to sleep near my Hunter at all times, and not necessarily as a human…in a way a human would. I don't really know how to explain it. Dean has always been there; I hatched from my egg the exact same moment he was born, and we were both laid together in the nursery cot in the hospital. His mother, Mary, didn't like Angels very much; she had a Demon who'd served her family very well already named Azazel, but John had insisted on me for Dean, and I'm grateful for that otherwise I would have woken up to a very different lifestyle, perhaps, and would never have known what I do now.

I love Dean. There's no two ways about it, but it's so _wrong_. Sinful and goes against everything I am; my breeding, my nature, my species. I am not Human, I am not a Woman, and therefore I should not be with Dean. I've never heard of an Angel getting so attached to his or her Hunter that their thoughts were straying to become less like a partner or a pet…but to a lover's. I had begun to stay further and further away from him, lest my instincts and my desires overwhelm me. As an Angel I'm not used to experiencing anything other than loyalty to my Hunter, his family, and to my species, and so feeling such complicated things as jealousy and love and anger are so foreign and terrifying that I have to run sometimes, or fly.

My world started out small and warm. I remember feeling like I was encased in jelly, warm and almost liquid, so that I could move around. I remember stretching my wings out slightly behind me, knowing they were growing all the time, and feeling them come up against a slick, hard shell of resistance. I knew I was in an egg, an awareness that had been bred into my species, and I knew that one day I would get too big for this egg and have to break out of it. That was what the long fingernail on the first finger of my right hand was for; to claw my way out of the shell when the time came.

My world started out dull; there wasn't much to entertain me once I started to become aware of my surroundings. I knew such sensations as being carried, laid down, and rolled around in my little cocoon. I became used to the feel of increased patches of warm every now and again, what I now know were hands holding me, and muted voices talking to me or over me, and I would listen. I wanted to know the language I was being born into.

I knew the time had come when I tried to flex my wings – little appendages built of purely white feathers – and found they couldn't stretch out behind me. I knew it would get uncomfortable if I tried to stay inside, and so I figured it was time to break out now. So I began my work; I clawed at my eggshell with a sadness born of hurting something so familiar, knowing that what lay outside would be so utterly different, and breaking what had been keeping me safe for the past few months. But I knew it was time to come out and accepted that with clarity, feeling immense joy flood me when I scratched through enough to feel cold air. I would miss the warmth but I knew this would be so, so much better if I could get there. I took advantage of the weakness and pushed, muscles straining in my arms and wings to split the egg in two, only to quickly give up; that wasn't the best way of getting out of this prison anyway. So I tried a different method; I began to scratch some more at the gash, and was afraid to open my eyes when light met me on the other side. I was afraid I would be blinded.

There were voices though, on the other side, and I reached for them. The eggshell pieces seemed to fall away from me and I stretched, feeling the glorious freedom as I pulled out my limbs. My wings fluttered uselessly behind me, heavy now that they were no longer suspended in the liquid and my eye-lids felt heavy. I sucked in a breath like I had spent the past few months preparing to do, and the air was cold and crisp. Somewhere, distantly, there was a smell that was hurting my nose, and there were noises, still-muted from the feeling of being partially deaf for so long. I was unprepared for the rush coming from the senses, and I still hadn't even opened my eyes.

I was afraid to be blinded.

"Castiel." That was a murmur I recognized, and a word I knew as well. Somehow, I knew it was my name and I turned my head instinctively towards it, trying once again to flex my wings, to let them know that I'd heard them. But I couldn't and so instead I settled for something vocal; a highly-pitched whine that was soft but carrying. "Shh…Castiel…. Don't worry my son." Another one I knew, the male voice that was always around me. "Come on; let us take you to your Hunter."

I was still afraid, I didn't want to be moved again so soon, but I was tired from breaking my way out of the egg and really…I wanted to know the feeling of my Hunter, even if I refused to open my eyes. A bond between Angel and Hunter is all the more strong if it starts right from birth, and it was then I knew that he must have been born as well. And so I did not protest when I was picked up, but I felt like I should have been smaller; so used to being in the cramped and warm space of my egg, and I was picked up and it felt like I had expanded in just that short amount of time. Was I meant to grow this quickly? Maybe if I opened my eyes…

But I was still afraid.

"Mary, John, this is Castiel…he hatched just a few moments ago." That female voice again, and I felt the cool breeze of her stride as she carried me over to what must have been the parents of my Hunter. I keened lightly again, reaching out blindly to try and find him or her. I wanted to be near my Hunter as soon as possible, already drowning in the loyalty of my species. A small laugh echoed from above me and I turned my blind sight to see who was laughing…only to know the fruitlessness of an act. I would have to open my eyes.

"Is he blind?" asked who I assumed to be Mary and I tilted my head at her. I was not blind. Merely afraid. A few hairs ran themselves along my forehead as the woman holding me shook her head 'No', undoubtedly smiling from the sound of her voice.

"No, he's just young. If he doesn't open his eyes by the end of the day we should check it out, but I think for now he's just afraid. A hospital is a scary place to wake up in." At the end of that note I could detect just a little something…something I was too young to know about but now I realize was bitterness. Bitterness for where I was born? For my situation? Did this human not approve of Hunters, or Angels? Maybe another biased woman, but I didn't mind. I just wanted to see my Hunter, to be near my Hunter. I whined lightly, wanting to push myself out of this woman's hold but her arm was around my wings and anchored me there. I whined again, more loudly this time, pulling on the skin of her arm.

I heard someone move, perhaps the male who was with the female carrying me and again I was airborne, being carried over and laid down. I was about to let my disappointment and anger at being denied my Hunter known, before I was aware of body heat next to me. There was a soft gurgling sound, and it was then – _only then_ – that I found the strength to look over to my left side, letting my eyes slide open and view the world.

The first thing I saw was green. His eyes were intense, especially for somebody so young, and I know now he gets that from his father. The baby was wrapped in white and blue blankets to keep him warm, and even as I looked at him I received one of my own. I wrapped my wings around myself before they curled me in the blanket, looking over the both of us – me and my Hunter. There was a redheaded woman and an older, balding man smiling just a little, like a job well done or like someone does when they are searching forever for the right key to a lock and they manage to find it after hours of searching. Then, letting my eyes wander, I saw an upside-down mother looking back at me. She was next to a man who I knew was my Hunter's father from his eyes, the same color, and he had dark hair that almost completely covered his face in hair and a beard. The woman was blonde and my Hunter had a few wisps of the same color clinging to his head. Maybe it would darken in time, maybe not, but I was sure of one thing.

This was perfect.

The world was perfect.

I blinked once, twice, lazily getting used to the push and press of my irises and pupils, getting larger and smaller to compensate for changes of light and then I rolled to look back at my Hunter, who had fixed his intense eyes on me again. He gurgled like babies do, happily, reaching a hand out to me. More like flailing it, but I knew the feeling; my wings felt twitchy and like I couldn't quite control them yet. But I would get there, I knew I would, just like my Hunter would.

"So, what's his name?" I didn't bother to look up at who'd spoke; my eyes were riveted on the man I was destined to share the rest of my life with, Hunting…even then I'd known what I was built for, what I was meant to do and I didn't have a problem with that. I would be honored to spend my existence protecting and serving my Hunter.

"Dean," came the reply, and immediately I felt my lips move, to try and emulate that sound. It wasn't very complicated, but I found myself unable to speak and that annoyed me, worried me. After all, I may have been young but speech is essential! How could I communicate with my Hunter if I couldn't speak?

"Dean…The Angel's name is Castiel. In a few months you'll need to come back and have his voice-box clipped, so that he doesn't damage anything, and if you want we can sign him up for a Training Program, but until then I think we'll be able to discharge the both of you tomorrow or the day after. I'm sure the two of them will be a great pair."

"I'm sure." The murmured reply was John; that much I know. I don't know, nor do I really care what they thought when they looked at me and Dean, who were locked in a staring match so intense I doubted an earthquake would have broken it. Staring at each other as though trying to communicate through our minds, our expressions. Dean looked peaceful and that made me relax; I didn't have to protect my Hunter today. At least, I knew I wouldn't have been able to, and so I was glad that I didn't have to. A soft smile was on my face when his eyes closed and I let mine follow, instinctively drawing myself more closely to his warmth. I managed to untangle a wing from around myself and the blankets, curling one over the both of us with Dean's face turned very slightly to rest against my collarbone. I almost wanted to purr, I was so content, but I kept silent because I didn't want to wake him.

I felt a hand caress Dean's head gently, and then my own, and it was only then I finally let sleep take over, because I knew that when I was fully grown I wouldn't need to sleep at all. I would be able to protect Dean all of the time.

I was tired from the break-out of my eggshell, tired from meeting Dean, the intense feeling of being bonded already growing inside of me, and I was just tired from so many new sensations after months of deadened sound and sight and smell. I fell to slumber immersed in the scent and sound of my Hunter, dreaming gently next to me.

And for that moment, the world was perfect.

* * *

I was three months old by the time I said my first word. Pretty average by Angel standards but I had a photographic memory, I never forget, and for the first few weeks, months, years of my life, the world was happy.

I soon learned to stay by my Hunter at all times; I wanted to be near him all the time and to be honest…well…the family Demon upset me. I didn't like the way Azazel was constantly watching over Dean and Mary like a housecat with those weird, unblinking yellow eyes and his forked tongue and that _tail…_It made my skin crawl to look at him. It still does. I didn't like the fact that he was so…inhuman and human at the same time. Take away the tail, the forked tongue and his eyes; he'd just be another person on the street. But he was so _dark_…a Demon's essence, its soul, for lack of a better word – it's so completely blackened and it makes me angry, riles against my very nature to see it in the same house. Although…I suppose I was the one to originally encroach. Azazel has a good fifty years on me.

I was happy until Sam Winchester was sixth months old.

Mary had put her foot down, gotten Sam a Demon companion. The thing had already hatched – she obviously didn't share the same connection to wait for Sam that I had for Dean – and was prowling around the waiting room while Mary's quiet groans of birth echoed down the sterile corridor. Dean and I were four years old at the time and I have to say, Dean was remarkably patient. Azazel was antsy, hissing quietly if anyone came too close to us – I have to admit that he reminded me of a feral cat – and obviously irritated at hearing his Mistress in pain and being unable to help. The hospital had a strict policy against Angels and Demons in the ICU. I guess we're dirty or something. Only John was allowed in there.

With one wing, which had begun to darken as I aged, black at the roots but still white towards the tips, I wrapped Dean up close to me, soft purr ringing from my system as he wrapped an arm around my waist and held me close. In my arms I held the Demon chick and wrapped my second wing around her, feeling the weird stretch and extension of my muscled wings. Ruby was whining quietly in my arms, obviously not understanding what was going on but still wanting to be a part of it. I wanted to know. I wanted to see my Hunter's younger brother.

But I knew we'd be allowed in eventually.

"Castiel." My head snapped around to my Hunter's voice, searching for his eyes at the sound of my name. I would never get over how _green_ his eyes were. I would remember that color, that exact shade and blend of hues for the rest of my life, I was sure of it.

Looking back now, I know that was my first warning sign – the weird obsession I had with my Hunter's eyes – but I was still young, hardly old enough to understand human emotions, let alone the more complicated lack of them that was bred into my species, aside from loyalty and trust and faith. An Angel was killed if it didn't have faith.

"Yes, Dean?" I hadn't been able to speak for a while; Mary had gotten my voice clipped so that it didn't sound like the ear-piercing whine that most humans heard, so that I was able to speak at a human level, and even then three years later it still hurt to talk, but I got around it for the most part. I cocked my head to the side at seeing the innocent worry, the ignorance in my Hunter's eyes. I knew what he was feeling; "Your mother is going to be fine. She went through this with you too; she loves you and she's going to bring your brother into the world soon enough. You'll see." By the end of that my voice was raspy and my mouth felt dry and I quickly swallowed. Azazel had moved over to us, sitting himself cross-legged on the floor and desperately – for I had to have been desperate to want a Demon's help – I looked to him to affirm what I'd already said.

"Don't worry, Dean," Azazel purred lightly, brushing a hand over the boy's leg. I stiffened a little, frowning that the Demon would touch my Hunter, but I let it go. The only sign that I had been annoyed was the slight tightening of my wing around Dean, one hand moving to rest against his thigh on the scratchy, plasticy uncomfortable hospital seats. There was a surge of something, something that made me want to take Dean into my arms and fly as fast and far away as possible, and I think I definitely would have done it if my wings were more developed, able to support such weight…but I didn't. I couldn't. And that knowledge…it hurts me, the What Ifs I would never come to know. "Your mother is a strong woman from a long line of Hunters. She will handle your little brother just fine." And there was a smile on his face, the curve of his lips meant to be comforting, but I just found it sinister. It was like the inbred hatred between rats and cats, cats and dogs. I hated Azazel and I was intimidated by him, just as I now am by him…and my own kind.

I was silent, my throat aching from what little I had spoken that day and so I merely pulled myself closer, practically perched on Dean's shoulder and enveloped him in the soft, still-downy feeling of my wings. I knew I would start to malt soon, get rid of all my baby feathers to let loose instead my adult wings, which would be almost six times my current height, awkward and heavy but it would only make my body stronger, stronger so that I could protect my Hunter like I was supposed to.

We had to wait another hour or so before John returned. Ruby had stirred to wakefulness in my arms at the scents that covered him; he smelled of hormones and blood although neither coated him…at least not in the physical sense. It was then that I knew Sam had been born. The smile on his face let us know he was alive and well and although I did it reluctantly, I let Dean slip from beneath the cover of my wings and run over to his father, who knelt down to his height.

The world was happy, then…but lonely. There was a little rift building between Dean and me the night his little brother came into the world. I love Sam like a little brother, for whomever Dean loves I love as well…but that boy has made things very difficult for me and Dean, and I am obliged to begrudge him for causing grief to my Hunter. Slowly I closed my wings, plastering them to my back as I tended to do when I was tense, unsure, and Azazel strode ahead of me, eager smile on his face at seeing his Mistress again. I could see John's expression darkening, just for a moment, on Yellow Eyes. I was glad that John seemed to share the distaste I had for Demons, but we were outnumbered in the Winchester household; the only reason, really, I was still here was because of what had happened the last time Mary had tried to take Dean away from me.

* * *

It was years ago, when Dean was starting to become an independent toddler, walking and running and speaking and playing with me all the hours of the day. I hadn't meant for it to happen, but it had. We'd been sitting outside, and I'd been looking up at the birds circling above us, unable to wait for the day when I would finally be able to fly, or carry Dean around with me. Apparently, though, the laws of Physics don't apply to those our age, and so when Dean had suggested that he wasn't very heavy and neither was I and therefore the both of us should be fine, I had begun to relent. When I'd met his gaze and seen the hope in them, the dark green brightening to grass I had broken under the wish of my Hunter and attempted it. We'd gotten almost ten feet in the air before I fell, my wings weak and unable to support the combined weight of two bodies. Mary had come outside just in time to see my fall and thought that I would have injured Dean – she hadn't given me another glance; it was John's job to take care of the Angel, after all.

I'd never seen her so angry, or so afraid. It was then that I began to see what humans call 'being irrational'. I hadn't fully understood it then but I do now; when humans are angry or scared they tend to think or act differently. That was why Mary had demanded I be taken out of the house, put up for sale, anything. 'He's not getting near my baby boy ever again.' Those words had pierced something deep inside of me; I'd understood them even if I wasn't cognitive enough to come up with more than a one-word argument, but it didn't matter. I would not be separated from my Hunter, or he from me. Ever.

She couldn't deny me my Hunter.

I wanted to fight her, launch myself at Dean and curl around my Hunter's body and never, ever let go. I could feel the pain of separation already, only growing when Azazel slinked out of the house to stand beside his Mistress, blinking his large yellow eyes at me in clear disinterest, as though he didn't have a care in the world if Dean and I were separated. John had followed just a minute later…just in time, for I fear that if we had been left in the precarious stand-off, something would have given and it sure as Heaven wouldn't have been me.

He'd heard Mary shouting, had seen what happened, and thankfully didn't need to be caught up. He knelt in front of me, so much care and affection on his face that I wanted to cry; he treated me like a son, like an equal to humanity. I always felt like I owed John for that; Mary just thought I was a pet, a Hunting companion like the dim-witted, evil Demons were supposed to be. Supposed to be. We were both intelligent species, filled with bred-in knowledge beyond anything Humans could accomplish, and yet we were bound to protect them and serve them and I wanted that. I wanted to stay with Dean. He reached a hand out to brush some hair from my eyes and I could see and hear Mary's snort of derision, as though I wasn't worthy of the small amount of affection I was receiving. The feathers of my wings rustled in discontent, hating the fact that my Hunter was currently in his mother's arms, apparently not feeling very disconcerted that I wasn't near him.

That was the first time I felt…that feeling. I didn't know what it was, but it was like…anger…annoyance that someone else was touching my Hunter…my Dean…and they had no right to. Of course Mary had a right to – Dean is her son – but still…I didn't like it. At all. Not one bit. I wanted to tear my Hunter away from her, but I was still young and small and if I focused on John the feeling went away, and so I did; forced myself to relax as I looked into the brilliant green eyes of my Hunter's father, the genetics that I was glad he'd passed on to his son.

Once I relaxed I was aware of Mary speaking; John straightened and turned towards her, leaving me to stand and cower behind his leg, awaiting my judgment.

"I told you John…I told you! No Angels in my house! My family has never had an Angel and now we get one and look what you've done! I want that thing out of my house tonight!"

I could feel it. They'd clipped my voice but I could still feel the strength of it in my vocal chords, building like the pressure of a heart attack in my chest. If I shouted loudly enough they wouldn't dare take Dean away from me. My throat was raspy from being clipped but as God was my witness, I was going to scream if it meant they didn't take Dean away from me.

"Mary, he's an Angel. Of course he's going to want to learn how to fly. And you saw it; Dean isn't hurt, neither of them is hurt. Nothing happened." John was trying to be calm, placating, but I could tell Mary was still being…irrational.

"Then I want its wings clipped. Damn it, John!" I winced at the curse, flinching and my wings flexed slightly out behind me. Later on in life I would have to get used to curses and swearing but for now while I was young, they hurt my sensitive ears and set my teeth on edge. "And we're sending it to the Goddamn –" another wince "- training facility that Bobby recommended before it gets anywhere near Dean again, do you hear me? I won't let it back in until it's trained."

"Castiel has a name, Mary." I looked up instinctively at my name, only to lock eyes with my Hunter's mother. Salt Water met Ice and I froze over, breaking the gaze almost instantly as the words sank in. I set myself on the ground, curling my wings tightly around myself in an attempt to shut out the high-pitched keening in my head, the harsh denial that they were taking Dean away from me…or rather, sending me away. I didn't want to go; I'd behave, I would, if they didn't send me away.

* * *

Turns out after they left me alone outside John had managed to let me get away with just getting my wings clipped; he'd said I was too young and Dean and I were already so strongly bonded that it wouldn't be humane – she'd laughed at the word – to send me away before we were both old enough to realize what that meant. I know now; sending me to a Training facility, so I would learn everything I needed to know to be able to protect and serve my Hunter. I would have done that if they'd _explained things to me_, but Mary obviously didn't think I was smart enough to understand.

Turns out I get the last laugh.

Or I would have if I had a sick sense of humour.

There were speed bumps, crossroads and many arguments after that. My wings felt weird, unbalanced after being clipped, and my voice hurt to talk so I didn't much. Mary no longer let me sleep next to Dean; I had to be kept in a separate pen on the side of his room. Like an animal. She also made sure it was high so I couldn't jump it or climb it, crawl to my Hunter during the night. For the first week or so Dean would cry, and then he'd fall silent once I began to answer him, let him know I was still here. More often than not I woke up with my back to the bars, the body heat of my Hunter lying down beside me with one of his small hands buried in the dark feathers of my wings.

I would merely smile and go back to sleep, feeling with each passing week how much less of it I seemed to need, until I could spend all night softly singing to my Hunter until he fell into slumber, and then whenever he'd wake up during the night I'd be there. By the time Dean and I had turned three I was able to leap over the walls of my pen and crawl over to him, and since I didn't need as much sleep anymore I was quick to go back before Mary woke up. Maybe during the night she tried to catch me in the act, but she never did.

I'm quite smug about that.

But not proud, because if it hadn't been for me and my absurdly weak emotional spot for Dean, as well as the strong hard-headed nature that he carried with him well into adulthood, I never would have flown with him and endangered his life. I am ashamed that I did so, that I did not wait until I was old and strong enough to support him, but hindsight is perfect.

And the moments when I lay in my Hunter's arms, or he in mine while he slept…that was perfect.

The world was perfect, and happy, and full of contentment and good dreams.

At least, until Sam Winchester turned six months old.


	2. Chapter 2

I hadn't meant for it to happen. At least, not like that.

Not like this.

As Sam Winchester grew in his age, he looked more and more like his mother every day. The same cheekbones, the same nose and even sometimes when the light hit just right, the same eye color. As he grew into his teens his eyes and hair would darken and he'd look more like his father but for that time whenever I looked into the baby crib I saw nothing but the icy eyes that wanted me gone.

Mary had slowly began to calm down after the initial freak flying accident but it was almost a full year before she removed that pen that was in a corner of Dean's room, and mostly because that room was going to become Sam's and Dean's would move to the end of the hall. I moved with him and John bought another bed despite the fact that, by the time Dean and I had turned four and Sam had been born, I no longer needed to sleep. It didn't stop me from pushing the two beds together and resting with just that small rift between us. I soon found that, while I could no longer sleep, I could enter into a deep sort of meditation, in which I was connected with my brothers and sisters and could rest in our mixed thoughts and feelings, whatever we happened to be feeling at the time.

It was usually peace, harmony, tranquility. Those of us who meditated were often near our Hunters and felt nothing more than the settled contentment that came with knowing they were near.

Ruby, I noticed, was hardly ever parted from Sam and yet at the same time she seemed disloyal, to me. There was always something that seemed to be going on behind her dark brown irises, and sometimes she would look at me in a weird way, like I was something to be frightened of or something to be killed. I could understand that; after all I'm sure that during the first few months of my life I looked to Azazel in the same way, but now I felt like slowly but surely I was being outnumbered; there were two Demons in the house, bonded to two of the residents and only Dean and John were on my side.

If there were sides.

I came to realize the reality of just how bad things had gotten when Sam Winchester was six months old. Dean had been woken up in the middle of the night by…a feeling. That's the only thing he would say to me but he kept begging me to go check on Sam. Even then the older brother felt the need to protect his younger sibling, and the fact that Dean loves Sam so much burns my heart with affection and jealousy at once.

But I obeyed: I really didn't have a choice. Silently I moved through the house towards the baby's room, and I had to stop and hide behind the stairs to the lower level when Mary appeared at the bedroom door, obviously tired and having been roused by baby Sam's burbling.

"John, is he hungry?"

Evidently the answer was 'No', because she shrugged and left. I couldn't imagine why Dean felt so strongly about this 'bad feeling', but I had sworn to check on Sam and I wouldn't disobey my Hunter now. So I crept forward, the only sound I made being the soft slither of my wings being dragged along the floor, and I peered around into the room.

It was lit by the small nightlight they'd gotten for Sam, but that was it. The room smelled of blood, very strongly, and Azazel was standing over the crib. I knew it was the Demon because John's soul doesn't look like that.

Black and empty.

There was no hesitance; I couldn't afford anything. Sam wasn't my charge, but he was my Hunter's brother and that meant I had to do _something_ to protect him. All my brain was screaming at me was _blood _and _Demon _and _Sam, protect Sam, _and so without thinking I launched myself forward. I was only small, and I shouldn't have had the effect that I did, but I managed to knock Azazel away from the crib, onto the floor. His wrist was bleeding, confirming what I had hoped wasn't true, but there was no stopping to check on the baby now. I hissed, feeling the power of my true voice build up in my throat and fought it back – if I damaged anything Mary would kill me.

Funny how I used to care what she thought of me.

I could feel it, the power within myself, the power to fight against Demons, my natural enemy. I leant forward to place a hand against Azazel's head, to send him to Hell or kill him completely, but his strong grasp stopped me. He rolled us over, I'm sure intent to kill me, but the action caused my wings to flail desperately in an attempt to keep me upright and my wing smashed into the small nightlight, cracking it and making it spark. The next thing I knew there was smoke and fire.

Mary came rushing back into the room, screaming when she saw the flames surrounding me and the Demon. She ran forward, picked Sam up in her arms and then ran over to us. I saw a flash of her white nails as she grabbed a hold of Azazel's shoulder and hauled him off of me, pulling the Demon out of the room and at the same time calling for John to help her, to save Dean.

She didn't even look at me.

I pushed myself to my feet, staggering a little as pain lanced through my system. One of my wings was hurt, singed by the proximity to the flames, and possibly strained from the Demon trying to crush it between my body and the floor, but I had to get out, to make sure Dean was safe. At the last moment I remembered to pick Ruby up from Sam's crib as well, and carried her outside.

I set her on the ground and she immediately crawled over to Azazel's side, giving little mewls of fear and displeasure, at being handled by me I'm sure. I didn't care; I couldn't see Dean. I had to save Dean. I was almost back inside the house when John's huge shadow eclipsed the flames inside, he was coughing and carrying the shaking form of my Hunter, who gave a relieved cry at seeing me.

"Cas, you're alright!"

John set him down, and immediately I was enveloped in the tight hug that only a four-year-old can really pull off; stupidly strong but very sincere. The action brushed against my sore wing, though, and I had to whine and pull away, the feathers rustling against my back as I folded my wings tightly. I didn't want anyone touching them.

"Cas, what's wrong?" Dean asked, immediately worried as I sat back, and crumpled to a heap on the floor. My wing was crushed under my weight, but there was a dull throbbing at the tips that I could ignore as long as I sat on them. "Dad, I think something's wrong with Cas."

"_Something's _wrong with Cas?" That was his mother, her voice high-pitched and grating against my nerves. Instinctively I pulled my wings in tighter, trying to bury myself in them but it hurt to move them, to try and pull them out from underneath my weight. Dean sat next to me, trying to pull out the wings to get a closer look at them, and I growled at him, trying desperately to make him go away.

It was the first time I'd ever acted negatively towards Dean. And it was the first time I began to see wisdom in the four-year-old. He bit his lip and I could see the tears welling up at my rejection, but then he took a deep breath and turned towards his father. "Dad, I think Cas burned his wing."

"Damn right the little bastard burnt himself." I whined pathetically at the back of my throat, wincing at the swear. I heard footsteps, hurried, and suddenly Dean's mother was standing in front of me, barely held back by John. "He's the one who set the fire off! He tried to kill Azazel, and Sammy and Ruby! He's a crazy, homicidal _bird, _John!" She whirled on her husband, pointing an angry finger my way. "I want him out, John. No Angels, I said, but you wouldn't listen to me and now our house is gone! Sam could have died. We're putting him up for sale, or we're taking him to be put down. He is a danger to us and everyone in our household!"

"No!" Dean stood up quickly, tiny hands clenched into fists as he glared at his parents, tears running down his cheeks. "You can't take Cas away from me! I won't let you!" And just like that, his arms were around me again, pressing against my burnt wing. I whined, wrapping my arms around him in return, face buried into his little forearm. I could feel his tears soaking into my hair and I wanted to comfort my human, but how could I when I was the cause of his grief?

"Mary…" John's voice was shaken, but coaxing. Trying to calm her down. "We'll send Cas to Bobby's, alright? He'll get training. I'm sure it was nothing more than an accident. We'll send him away for a while as we try and find a new place -." My heightened senses picked up fire engine sirens in the distance. "And when we get a new place he'll be alright to come back home. You can't separate them. Mary, look at them! Look at Dean!"

I'm sure we made quite a sight; me, curled up pathetically on myself and shaking in Dean's arms while the four-year-old sobbed over me. What a strong show of co-dependency. My free wing – unburned and unhindered by Dean's arms – twitched a little on my back, ruffled by something and I lifted my head to meet Azazel's eyes.

They were dark. Almost fully black. I'd never seen them that color before.

He looked absolutely _furious, _as though by interrupting him I had personally insulted him. Perhaps I had – Demons acted weirdly, but _I knew _he had been up to no good, and I knew I had tried to save Sam, and I knew I'd failed. But he also looked triumphant, and I knew I hadn't succeeded in trying to stop him in whatever it was he was doing.

But feeding a human Demon blood definitely fell into my category of 'Not Good', and so I didn't regret trying, even if doing so meant I had destroyed my Hunter's home and his life, and almost killed his brother and his brother's Demon chick. I couldn't regret it.

I had just protected the family for the first time.

And now I was to be sent away for it? For doing my job? For doing what I was born, bred, trained to do? I couldn't fathom it – humans are so weird. They see us as nothing more than pets unless it suits them to graft a personality onto us – in Mary's case, malevolent psychopath.

"Come on, boys," John said, cutting off my vision of Azazel when he kneeled in front of Dean, picking up the little boy in his arms. I almost growled at him for taking Dean away from me, and tried to stand up to follow him, but my wing _really _hurt and I found it hard to move it, to try and compensate my change of weight. John frowned down at me, kneeling once again. "You hurt, buddy?" he murmured, reaching out to stroke a finger along my wing to where the still-white-ish feathers were singed, blackened and a few missing from the heat of the fire. Feathers were apparently extremely flammable when exposed to human flame.

I nodded at John, eyes wide when mine met Dean's frightened ones. They were filled with worry for my safety.

John sighed, helping me up before he stood again. "Don't worry, Castiel, we'll get you fixed up nice."

That night, I fell asleep curled around Dean in the backseat of John's '67 Chevy Impala. My wings covered Dean's lap and legs as I rested my head on his lap, his fingers gently knotting in my hair, over and over again. I couldn't stop purring while he petted me.

When I woke up, though, I was in a cage. The warmth of Dean was long gone – I couldn't smell him anymore. I was in a different vehicle; there was a rumble of an engine I wasn't familiar with, and the place smelled _wrong. _I was…trapped, I couldn't move my wings very far before they met plastic, and the only view of the outside world I had was through a thin metal grating at the front of this…box. It was similar to my feeling of being inside my egg, but much less comfortable and far more frightening.

"Dean!" I cried, wanting the comfort of my Hunter's voice, slamming one of my hands desperately against the front of the cage in an attempt to break it open. No such luck – the metal held firm. "Dean!"

"Shh, Cas, calm down, buddy." That was John's voice. I shifted my body, craned my neck to try and get a look at my Hunter's father, but I couldn't see him. The shifting of the engine underneath me seemed to get louder for a moment. "We're heading to a friend of mine and Dean's and you're going to stay there for a while. Then you'll get to come back home and see Dean, if you're good."

I slammed my hand against the cage again, feeling the plastic crack and dent under my blow. "Cas! Stop right now or you won't get to see Dean!"

_That_ stilled me. Immediately I quieted, curling up more tightly on myself in the animal crate. I felt something wet against my back and turned, trying to see – it was too small in here – and managed to glimpse my wing, wrapped tightly in gauze and oozing some sort of salve. Now that I knew it was there, I could feel the weird tingling, cooling sensation along my wounded wing. It was oddly pleasant.

"When? When can I see Dean?" I asked, fingers tracing through the bars on the cage, trying to press my face closer, to see my Hunter's father's eyes. "When can I go home? Is Mary angry with me?"

"Mary's pissed," John replied, oblivious to the sharp flinch I gave. "But she agreed you can come home once we're settled at the new house. Shouldn't be more than six months if you're a good boy. Can you be a good boy for Dean, Castiel?"

I nodded immediately. "Yes."

"Alright, then. Relax, and go to sleep. We'll be there soon."

* * *

Bobby Singer's training facility was not what I had expected, though what I had expected I couldn't say. The place was open, there wasn't even a fence to mark the borders of it, merely a sign hanging above the driveway indicating that it was, indeed, a training facility for Angels and Demons. When John stopped the car and opened the cage to let me out, the scent of salt, iron and blood hit me very strongly, almost to the point of making me feel dizzy and nauseous, and I pinned my wings tightly to my back even though that caused the salve to ooze uncomfortably and it hurt them to keep them so tight.

There was a large house in front of us, and I could smell others of my kind in there, hear their high-pitched calls, coos and whistles and on instinct I stepped forward, a small keen coming from my mouth in an attempt to make contact with some of them. From above, one of the windows had been smashed open, and a blue-eyed and grey-haired Angel poked his head out of the window, whirring softly in greeting. He was fully grown, and when he jumped out of the window to glide down to us, his wings were large enough to cast a shadow over the whole area.

"Hallo," he said in an accent that I didn't recognize, rolling the greeting into a friendly tone, his smile wide as he landed and immediately crouched down to my level, so he didn't look so big. His wings were huge, silvery-green like rocks in a mountain lake, and I immediately liked him. He was friendly and his Grace shone brightly with affection and contentment – he was happy here.

Our eyes met when I made a soft sound in return, and he smiled, this time more softly, and held a hand out to me, and I took it, letting him pull me closer to him so he could lean down and catch the scent in my hair, in my wings. "You've been injured, little one," he said softly, tutting in displeasure and I tensed when one of his gentle hands combed through the bottom of my feathers, the gesture more intimate than anything I had experienced from anyone other than Dean. It made warmth flood through me, like the feeling of coming home and when Dean hugged me tightly before we went to sleep.

"We're looking for Bobby Singer," John said, snapping us out of the moment, and the older Angel looked up, still smiling in encouragement as he rose to his feet, still holding onto my hand.

"Everyone is," he said with a small laugh. "We're playing hide and seek. Come on, little one, let's see how good your instincts are." He tugged on my hand, but I hesitated, looking back towards John. The Angel paused, eyes calculating as they moved back and forth between us. "He is not bonded to you, is he?" he asked.

"My son," John replied. "My wife insisted on getting him trained. There was an accident at the house."

The Angel's eyes narrowed for the briefest of seconds, before the smile was back and I didn't think any more of it. "There is no need for you to be here, sir, then. The little one will be in my personal care until he is ready to return. Mister Singer, I am certain, will have been expecting you."

John hesitated once more, obviously unsure, before he sighed and knelt down in front of me. "Cas?" he murmured, summoning me to his side and I went, removing my hand from the older Angel's grasp so that I could walk to him, and he could pull me into his arms, careful of my injured wing, and stroke a hand through my hair. "You be good and learn well, okay? As soon as Bobby says you can come home, I'll be here to take you back to Dean."

"I'll do my best," I vowed, knowing that I would. Already the ache of not being near Dean was building up, and it felt as though my Grace was quivering inside of my body, desperate to be let out, and I clung to John a little tighter than normal, able to scent traces of Dean on his clothes, and I looked into his face and saw my Hunter's so-bright eyes. I would do the best that I could, and I would make it back to Dean. I would prove myself to Mary. I had to.

John smiled sadly at me as he stood, and I watched him get back into the car and drive away, before a shadow fell over me and I turned around to see the older Angel standing close to me, a soft look in his eyes like he knew exactly what I was going through.

"Come on, little one," he murmured, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go find Bobby. He's very difficult to find, but I suppose that's part of the fun."

* * *

Those six months I was supposed to spend at that facility ended up being two years. I ended up being very good at hide and seek – perhaps it was because I was observant (after all, even with Bobby's Demon care there should never have been sulfur in that particular part of the enclosure when the only way in was through the house, which I had come to understand was unofficially where the Angels slept). Perhaps it was because I was good at figuring out an Angel's habits.

The older Angel that had greeted me was named Balthazar. He had been sent here when he was thirteen, but had loved it so much that Bobby had bought him off of his owners to be a greeter and care-giver for new Angels when they arrived. He had never been bonded to a Hunter, so he couldn't possibly know the kind of pain I was feeling through my entire separation.

I attacked my studies. I became fluent in Latin, Enochian, English and the butchered half-language of Demonic kind, mostly used when humans tried to attempt the magic of a Hellion and got it wrong but it still somehow worked to create this bastardized hybrid spell. I mastered the art of creating sigils of protection, recognizing individual symbols by their meaning and the original religion that had spawned them. I learned about what kind of monsters were out there that couldn't be tamed, couldn't be reasoned with and controlled, and I learned how to kill them. I didn't learn why, but it didn't matter to me – these things attacked innocents. They could attack Dean. They could have been attacking Dean right then, as I studied and learned and played hide and seek.

I tried not to think about that sort of thing too often. But sometimes dreams plagued me while I slept what little I could in the large house – we all meditated in groups, meshed together under each other's wings and I, as the smallest and youngest by far, fell into the middle of it entirely by accident. Like they were all trying to protect me with their bodies and the strength of their Graces. It felt good to be warmed by my brethren like this, even if I missed the minty scent of Dean's toothpaste-fresh breath next to me and longed for the sound of his tiny heart stuttering away.

When I would dream of Dean, he was an older man – perhaps twenty-five, his face worn and drawn and cold. I dreamed that he had never had me as his Angel, that I was lost to him permanently when he was four, and that he had had to live and survive without me. I watched him, in my mind's eye, torture a woman with nothing more than a small snarl of disdain curling his upper lip. He looked like a monster, like something out of one of Bobby's books that I was born to Hunt.

In my dreams I could never talk to him, reach out to him and touch him and reassure him I was there. I couldn't wrap my wings around him and hold him close to me and keep him safe. He was on his own with this giant black car and Sam in the front seat, where _I _should have been, and it made my heart and my head restless.

I studied extra hard the days following those nights.

Once my wing had healed, it was then that the lessons became harder. I was still molting, the black at the roots of my wings now overtaking almost all of them, and they were getting bigger every day, faster than my body was growing until I was gangly and uncoordinated.

It was then that the fighting began.

I was given a blade – a simple one, made of silver and platinum, with a rounded end and a savage-looking tip – to fight and train with. It was heavy to my small arm and I had never felt so young and inexperienced than when I held it for the first time, looking up at the Demon who had been assigned to train me. I had hated the Demon on instinct, simply because he was like Azazel, the thing that had been responsible for sending me here in the first place, but if anything it simply made me more determined to beat him, to drive the blade into his throat and end his black existence.

I learned the pain of having a knife slammed into my shoulder. I learned what it felt like to have my wings feel like they were being ripped from my back. I now knew how much it hurt to have the wind knocked out of me and my wings crushed and a knife pressed to my throat.

I learned the satisfying crunch of bone under my fist. I learned the resistance of skin under a dull blade and how easily it gave way with enough force. I learned savagery. I learned how to kill and how to make my enemy wish they had died.

All before I was six years old.

* * *

The welcome home was what I had come to expect – Mary eyed me warily and clutched Sam tightly to her chest, Ruby shuffling around her legs with curious little mewls, wondering what all the fuss was about. Sam had grown so big while I was away, mop of hair on his face the same color Dean's had been at that age, blue-green eyes wide and blinking as he chewed gently on the blunt end of a plastic toy. John had his hands on Dean's shoulder, holding him back until Bobby unhooked the cage and allowed me to crawl out – unnecessary, I thought, since I had mastered how to pick and fiddle with most kinds of locks including the paltry ones kept on animal cages, but irrelevant now.

I had only made it a step before my Hunter was in my arms, and at once it felt like everything snapped into place. My Grace felt as though it was going to explode out of me with joy – I'm pretty sure I was glowing with happiness, clutching Dean tightly to my chest and inhaling his scent. He smelled like home and happiness, mud and grass and apple shampoo and I loved him. I had missed him so much and having him back with me was worth any and all of my training, because now I was ready to really take my place at his side, to be the companion and Angel I was meant to be without endangering him or his family.

"Dean," I murmured happily, pressing my nose under his jaw to get his scent better, my wings flaring up behind me and wrapping tight around his small body – I had leaned out faster than him, and he still had a little baby fat on his body, but I knew I was now made of pure muscle, even at six, and I was taller than him now though I suspected he would – and did – overtake me soon enough.

"Cas, you're home," he replied, sounding just as happy as I was, and I thanked my Father in Heaven that he had not forgotten me or moved on. I had no idea what I would do without him, if I had been sold or traded like Balthazar had, doomed to watch Angels come and go and never call them one of my own like my Hunter was. Mine. He was mine.

He smelled the same, felt the same when his fingers pushed themselves into my wings, close to my back and I shivered, spreading them out wider for him – it felt like he was embracing me ever tighter, warmth flooding my chest and my head and I never wanted this moment to end. How much I had missed him.

"Your wings are different," he murmured after a moment, sweet breath washing over my neck and I smiled a little, nuzzling into his neck before I pulled away. His eyes hadn't changed. Thank the Father for that. "Your feathers are stiff."

"They're my older ones," I replied, holding out a wing for him to see, arching it high and letting it flare out so he could see the stretch and span of each outer feather. "Stronger. My wings are much stronger now."

"I love them," he said, and in it I could hear everything. I pulled him tight to me again, wrapping my wings around him as tightly as I could without suffocating him and breathed in his scent once more. Father help me I never wanted to be away from his side again. The hole in my chest had finally healed itself over and I never wanted that feeling again.

For a moment, the world was perfect again, and I had my Hunter in my arms, where he should be, safe and protected, but then a darkness came over us and I opened my eyes, looking up to see Mary watching me with Azazel standing close to her, neither one of them with enough expression in their faces to give anything away, but it set me on edge, made my feathers ruffle and stand up to make myself look bigger. I barely suppressed a snarl.

"Dinner's going to get cold if we stay out here," Mary said, turning on her heel and walking away, Azazel scooping Ruby up and following close after, tail flicking disinterestedly behind him. I heard John sigh, and turn around to no doubt talk to Bobby, but I couldn't concentrate beyond the feeling of my Hunter's soft heartbeat fluttering under my nose, his breath strong and steady against my neck and my hands as I hugged him. I only let him go long enough to walk back into the house, back _home_.

Azazel's eyes never left me throughout the meal – he, Ruby and I didn't need to eat and so we merely sat at the table and listened to our humans converse – and I felt another snarl building up in the back of my throat. He was unblinking, unwavering, and when I want to Dean's bedroom, he went to John and Mary's with a low purr and another flick of his tail.

I checked on Sam once before going to Dean's room – coming home had reminded me of the incident that had sent me here. I asked Dean if he had had any more of those 'feelings', but he shook his head and pulled a wing of mine over his body as a blanket, and then I became distracted.

"Don't leave again, Cas. Please?" he asked, eyelids drooping, stubbornly clinging to the edges of wakefulness until I had given my answer.

I smiled softly, nuzzling close to him and pressing my nose under his jaw. "Never," I promised, closing my eyes. Meditation here was different, less intimate and less warm than the communication I had shared at the training facility, but with Dean pressed close to my side and his hand resting over my wing, fingers buried deep in the feathers so I could feel his heartbeat through them, I knew I would never complain. I was home, with my Hunter, and for another short day, everything was perfect.

* * *

It didn't last.

I suppose I should say I was surprised.

We made it another two years, so Dean and I were eight years old, before it happened again. A wrongness that I couldn't place, hanging about the air. Maybe it was because Dean kept leaving me to go to school every day – something I obviously didn't begrudge him, but it left that aching emptiness whenever he would leave and I would run to his side every day when he returned, hugging him tightly, asking silently for him never to leave again. I would teach him everything he needed to know if he would just stay with me, but that was selfish, and Dean had friends at school and there was Sam to help take care of at home and Mary didn't need another child wreaking havoc every time her back was turned.

So I understood, but it still hurt. Maybe that was the wrongness I felt – Dean's absence. Maybe it was because Ruby had started speaking now, her words a low hiss and her eyes perpetually narrowed. Maybe it was because a nest of vampires had been reported in a nearby town and I feared for my family's safety.

Maybe it was the fact that I was seeing less and less of Azazel. I know that should have made me a little more relaxed, but I didn't like not knowing what the Demon was up to, what he was plotting. At least when I could see him I knew he wasn't off doing anything to harm my family. My _Hunter_. But no, for sometimes days at a time he was nowhere to be seen.

The image of Azazel's wrist bleeding his taint into Sam's mouth came back to haunt me. At first I thought I was going crazy simply from separation with Dean and worry over stepping on Mary's toes and getting sent away again. I would do anything if it meant I could stay, but I couldn't shake this _feeling_ off of me – like something very, very bad was about to happen and I had no way of stopping it.

On the night of November 2nd, exactly four years after that night, I found Azazel in Sam's room again. He was with Mary, but she was asleep in a rocking chair by Sam's bed and he was prowling around the floor, and Ruby was nowhere to be seen. The last part was the part that worried me most – even though I had doubted her loyalty at the beginning, in the past two years I had learned that Ruby was just as faithful and doting on Sam as I was on Dean. She loved him just as I loved my Hunter and I had no reason to think she wouldn't be by his side while he slept, keeping him safe.

I heard a soft whimper, and my eyes flashed over to a small shape in the corner, the white flare of rope against dark skin the only real distinction I could see before Ruby turned her head, dark eyes wide and teary in fear, and my heart froze in my chest for a moment. I gasped, and the noise alerted Azazel to my presence – his head snapped up, upper lip curling back in a low snarl as he bared pointed teeth at me, fingers curling into claws against the floor.

Even though I was still small, and much younger than him, I did my best to look imposing – my wings flared out high behind me, now fully raven-black and matted with oil at all times while they still grew, against the wall and blocking out the door. I crouched down, hands against the floor to give me a good point of leverage should Azazel attack me, and bared my teeth in return, eyes flashing with Grace.

The yellow-eyed Demon smirked. "Little child," he hissed, inching forward, and I snapped my jaws at him. "What are you doing up so late?"

"What are you doing?" I demanded, softly because I didn't want to wake up Mary or Sam and make him afraid – no one should see their Demon trussed up and helpless like that. We were supposed to be the ones protecting them; how can we if they see us as being weak?

Azazel's eyes flashed to the whimpering Demon cub, mouth twisted down in disdain as he sniffed at her, crawling over to crouch over Ruby, his long tail curling over her face and around her throat. I snapped at him again as he forced her head back, a loud whimper falling from her lips. She was crying, and my heart ached for her – she was still so young. "I like to call it a…" He tilted his head to one side. "Cleansing. Of bad blood."

I snarled. "The only impurity in here is you," I accused, inching forward. I was wary of leaving the door exposed – if Azazel was threatened, then he might run after Dean or John and I couldn't let that happen. I had to keep him in here.

He cocked his head to one side, his smirk widening until it was nothing more than a hateful grimace, and his tail unwound from Ruby's neck as he launched himself at me. I had no time to react before one of his hands was around my neck, shoving me down to the ground and forcing my submission. I growled and snapped at him, wing lashing out and giving a blow to his side that sent him flying. He snarled once more and rolled onto all fours, but I was after him again – I couldn't let him have any advantage whatsoever, otherwise he would surely win. He had the height advantage, the strength and the fighting ability, but he was old and out of practice, and he hadn't Hunted with his Mistress for a long time. My training was new and improved and I was still young enough to have the energy to follow through on my fight.

I remembered the feeling of bone crunching, and I let out a satisfied snarl when my fist connected with his sternum, the blow not very hard because he managed to dodge back, but it still connected. He went flying back, knocking Sam's crib over and the baby started to cry. Azazel was dazed and I only had a moment, so I ran to Ruby and untied her as quickly as I could.

"Take Sam and run – get Dean and John out of here," I told her, and she nodded quickly, running and picking Sam up – thank the Father her strength had started to kick in so that she could carry him – and bolting from the room. Azazel tried to chase her but I flew at him with a high shriek, clawing at his face and I kicked at him, at least trying to slow him down. Anything I could do.

Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder, and I felt like my head had been shoved into a pot of boiling gold. My entire body burned and I cried out, releasing my grip on him and falling to my knees, clutching my head. I felt as though my Grace was ice cold and had been dropped into lava, thawing and weakening as it gradually melted and slipped away, overtaken by the fire.

The pain was excruciating, and then there was a hand on the back of my neck, forcing me further to the ground. I was weak, and in pain, and my wings flattened to the floor in submission, a tiny, pitiful whimper falling from my lips. When I managed to open my eyes, I saw Azazel looking back at me, rage in his expression, his bared teeth too white and when he opened his mouth there was fire glowing in his throat.

"You have hindered me for the last time," he growled to me, and I saw him raise his hand for the killing blow. I braced myself.

That wasn't how I expected it to go. Ruby and Sam were safe, I knew, but not for long if Azazel killed me and chased after them. My attack had been worth nothing – my training, in vain. Mary would wake up the next morning and think nothing of my disappearance. She'd call me disloyal, she'd say good riddance. Or maybe she wouldn't wake up at all – maybe Azazel didn't give two shakes what happened to this family.

We were all to be cleansed.

I flinched at the sound of a gunshot, and Azazel screamed in pain as he backed away from me, clutching at his chest. Fire oozed out along with his blood, dripping onto the floor and the pools soon caught as though they were made of oil. I flinched away from the flames, backing away as quickly as I could as the pools of blood become bigger and the Demon screamed, until I hit solid flesh and looked up, into the eyes of John Winchester.

My admiration for that man had never been stronger.

"Get Dean, Castiel," he barked out, all the marine he used to be, and I scrambled to obey though my wings felt weak and stiff and my heart was beating fast in my chest and my blood felt as though it had been set alight. I ran to Dean's room, found him clutching Sam and Ruby tightly and I ran to them.

"Cas!" Dean cried out, hugging me tightly, but there was no time – no time. I grabbed Dean's shoulders and hauled him to his feet, herding the three of them towards the stairs. "Dad! Mom! We have to help them!"

"There's no time, Dean, go!" Already Azazel's poisonous blood was melting through the floor and the ceiling below, and fire had already spread to the corridor. The smell was horrible, and I couldn't see John anywhere but I had to believe that he had made it out okay. "Go, Dean, Sam – Ruby! Come on!" I pushed the three of them towards the door, at a loss of anything else to do – we had to get out of there as fast as we could before the smoke and fumes knocked us all out.

Once outside, I pulled the three of them close to me under my large wings, forcefully turning Dean and Sam around so that they wouldn't watch their home burn for the second time. Dean clung to me tightly and though it hurt my bruised and burning body, I let him because I needed to feel him beside me as much as I'm sure he needed me just then. Ruby and Sam were curled together under my other wing, and I stroked the Demon's hair, cooing at her softly as she whimpered and held Sam close, her hands gently rubbing her rope-burned wrists.

"You did so well, Ruby," I encouraged her, and she forced a watery smile my way, ducking her head under the arch of my wing to hide her face. "We're going to be okay, I promise. Everything will be okay."

John came out of the house just as the firemen arrived. Mary wasn't with him. When I looked to him, he shook his head and, without thinking, I tucked Dean even closer to me. That is when my Hunter began to cry.

He knew she was dead, too.

* * *

After that, I suppose we all got back into the game. We wanted to find Azazel and Hunt him down and make him pay for what he had done. I never told John or Dean or Sam about the night when Sam was six months old and Azazel had bled into him. I figured with the Demon dead it wouldn't matter.

John never blamed me for Mary's death. I expected him to at first, but I had forgotten just how much John had favored me over the years. He loved me more than Azazel and Ruby simply because I was an Angel, and I was told to look after his boys. I had done that, followed that order perfectly, and I suppose he found a kind of respect in that – that I would take on a fully-grown Demon and lay down my life for his sons.

It took John Winchester twelve years to Hunt down the yellow-eyed Demon – Dean and I were twenty by the time John took off on his own, tracking down a hunch while Dean, Sam and I kept sniffing after the obvious trail. I was fully grown, finally my wings and my body were proportional, and I could safely carry them when they were too tired or drunk to drive. I could fight alongside Dean and Sam, practice sparring with them when necessary, play the part of Agent or Priest with them if necessary, and keep watch while they slept without the need for sleep or meditation. I was the perfect weapon, the perfect Hunting companion, and I was ever vigilant, on the lookout for the creature who had torn my Hunter's family apart.

I taught Ruby everything I knew – how to Hunt, how to kill, how to love Sam with the same unconditional devotion and adoration with which I guarded and loved Dean. I taught her how it felt to have the wind knocked out of you, how it felt to have your arm wrenched behind your back so tightly, nerves pinched so all the feeling was lost in your hand. I taught her how to force someone to talk, how to fight with enough determination that any attacker would think twice about facing her. I taught her to be a force to be reckoned with.

For two years, until Sam was eighteen, we fought and trained and Hunted anything we could find on the trail of that yellow-eyed Demon. Then Sam left for Stanford. If I never had to see that look on Dean's face ever again, it would be too soon. The heartbreaking _pride_, the reluctance to let Sam go combined with the knowledge that it was the right thing to do.

"Keep Ruby close," I told him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he pressed his lips together, nodding his head firmly. His eyes were bright and shining with tears – maybe he had expected a fight, not a soft encouragement and a promise to not be a stranger. "She will protect you."

"I know, Cas," he said, with such soft affection in his voice when speaking of his Demon. I wonder if Dean ever talked that way about me. If I was ever more than a close friend and protector to him. "I promise I will. I'll call when I'm settled in."

Three months after Sam left, John stopped calling. He was so close on the trail of Azazel, Dean and I knew he was either dead or so deep undercover there was no way he could risk contacting us. We tried to find contacts who knew his whereabouts, but it was as though he had dropped off the face of the Earth. John Winchester had become one of the best Hunters in the world in the years since his wife's death – almost insane, how good he was. It seemed to be something neither of us had to mention when months turned over and over, and a whole year passed, and we knew he was dead.

Dean grieved with me by sharing a bottle of whiskey. We didn't tell Sam. He didn't need to know that.

John Winchester was dead. He had been the one to ultimately thwart Azazel, as he could have killed me and destroyed the rest of the family without a second thought, but Azazel's thirst for revenge could not be sated so easily. His Mistress had died because of me, and I knew with every bone in my body and feather on my wings that he would not rest until the entire Winchester family had truly paid for the loss of his Hunter.

If Dean had been taken from me in a similar way, I could not say what I might have done. For the briefest moment, right between when Dean threw the empty bottle against the wall and it smashed to pieces, and when he turned around with this glint in his eyes that I recognized from his father, I pitied Azazel.

Just for a moment, though.

* * *

We had finally closed in on him – storms, power cuts – definitely Azazel's telltale sign. I recognized it from many incidents before – they had always been him. He had been alive for a lot longer than Mary had been.

Dean was focused enough to worry me – he hardly ate, barely slept, just kept polishing the gun that I had fashioned to target Azazel and specifically him – altered from the vampire-killing gun that Samuel Colt had made and John had bargained for. There were two bullets left and they both had Azazel's name on them. Literally. Hopefully that would mean that the aim would prove true and the Demon would be done for, whatever happened to us.

We found him in a family's house. They had young children. One of them was already dead by the time we arrived, her blood fanning out around her in a growing pool – a recent death, her eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, mouth agape and leaking blood, dark hair fanned around her and soaking wet. It spoke of Dean's determination that he barely gave the child a passing glance, and neither did I.

It was a mistake.

One of the sigils I had learned about was a symbol of animation – literally it forced a corpse to become a puppet. As we passed by the child, it must have triggered the sigil that she was staring at above her on the ceiling, and I paused at the foot of the stairs when I heard the soft squeak of fingers clawing against blood-soaked floorboards. I turned around to see the child running for me, mouth open with fangs exposed, eyes whited out and blood-lined as though they were being melted from her face. With a shriek she launched herself at me, savage-looking claws extended from her hands and I didn't think – I lashed out, taking her by the throat and throwing her back, and she crashed into a wall, drawing Dean's attention when I heard him curse.

"Cas? What's -." A gunshot, then, and the thump of a fallen body with a low groan. My blood went cold and I rushed upstairs, unheeding of the child I had left behind, to find Dean pointing his gun at the prone body of an old, balding man who reminded me starkly of the man that had hatched me when I was born. He wasn't the same man but the similarity was oddly chilling to me.

"What the fuck happened?" Dean snapped, and I flinched a little at the harsh swear word before swallowing and steeling myself – no time for weakness now. "Cas?"

"There is a curse on this house," I murmured, stepping up to the man and, with a touch, I forced his soul from his body faster than death alone would have sent it, so that it could not be dragged back and forced back in to make him attack us. "To animate the dead. We must move quickly, Dean."

"Alright," he replied, drawing back to allow me to pass – all of the doors were closed in the house except for one at the far end of the hallway, and I strode towards it. I could _taste_ his darkness in that room, knew he was there and his traps would do nothing to stop me from destroying the thing that had hurt my Hunter.

"Cas, are you sure –?"

"He is here," I hissed, lifting my hand and forcing my Grace towards the door, making it open. Inside the room I saw a baby's crib and a woman in a rocking chair. She was sitting down, swinging it gently back and forth, back and forth, as the baby wailed on and she did nothing to comfort or help it. There was no blood in here, not even the stench of it – no sigils on the walls that I noticed or sensed when I walked into the room, Dean following right behind, gun drawn and cocked and ready.

The scene reminded me of the night Mary died. It was too eerily similar and I felt my Grace shudder, wings rustling behind me. The woman's chair was still rocking and it was too still, too quiet.

The door slammed behind us and I knew we were in trouble, when the woman rose from her chair and turned around, smiling widely enough to bare sharp, pointed teeth, her eyes flashing the color of amber. "Hello, boys," she whispered, and held up a lighter in her hand. My eyes widened, and I knew what was about to happen but had no chance to stop it – she dropped it and the circle of flames leapt up around me.

_No._

"No," I hissed, wings flaring out in aggression though I had no way to hurt him. I couldn't leave the circle of Holy Fire unless I wanted to die, and Dean was on his own. My panicked eyes flashed to Dean's face, but he wasn't looking at me – seemed not to care that the room was slowly being burned and that it was dangerously close to him. My wings shivered at the feeling of the flames, remembering the sensation of my heart burning inside of my chest, the walls leaping up in black smoke around us as the building crumbled down.

Dean lifted his gun, aiming it straight at Azazel's forehead. "Finally," he growled.

"Oh, Dean," Azazel tutted, shaking his – her – head, and waved a hand, sending Dean flying backward and into the door behind him with a sickening crack. It buckled under the blow and Dean was held there, suspended by Azazel's power. "Such poor manners. And to think we were such good friends."

"Go to Hell," Dean grit out, his voice tight with pain, and I gasped in horror to see the widening bloodstain spreading across his chest from under his jacket. How had he been injured? I had to help him, somehow, but by the Father I was still trapped.

The yellow-eyed Demon sighed, advancing on my Hunter, his rotten stench of sulfur so pungent in the room and I knew Azazel had been tainted, had lost everything that had tied him to humanity and serving them. He was a wild, a rogue Demon and he had to be put down.

Then he laid his hands on Dean. On _my _Hunter, and I snarled at him, fingers clenching into fists as I tried to summon my blade to me. It was difficult, my head was a mess and I didn't know if I could do it – had never had occasion to try – but I knew I would need to if I was to save Dean.

The Demon's eyes flashed to me and he matched my snarl with one of his own. _"You,_" he snarled, letting Dean go for now and stepping right to the edge of the flames. Oh how badly I wished I could reach out and snap his neck and banish his black soul back to Hell, but I couldn't. Not without laying down my life, and in vain if it didn't work. "You self-righteous little _bitch._ Because of you I have been to Hell. I have known the pain of losing my Hunter, my _love_."

I snarled again at him. I could feel the tingle against my forearm that was my blade coming to life, sliding down into my hand.

"And now, you will too."

_Dean. _"No!" I yelled, my blade sliding into my hand and I didn't think – I lifted it and threw. It pierced Azazel's vessel but he was too fast – flew out of her mouth before the blade's magic could take hold. Damn it. By the Father, _damn it._

With Azazel gone, Dean slumped to the floor, unconscious. He was still bleeding so badly and I knew there was nothing I could do – until the flames died down, I was helpless.

The baby was still crying, and I couldn't take it anymore. I reached out with what limited power I could while still trapped and ripped the wall apart in the house, causing water to spray into the room, putting out the flames, and then I rushed to Dean's side, whisking him away. I couldn't spare the thought to the child and the mother. If they were okay, if the Father's will was for them to be safe, then so be it. But Dean was in trouble and I had to help him. Besides, if there were any Angels in the area, they would hear my distressed call and come to the family's aid, but that was all I could do.

Dean was fine – pissed as Hell about Azazel getting away and he lectured me on not taking care of the mother and remaining child over him, but physically I could heal him. We needed help – any help we could get, now. Azazel's trail would have gotten too cold to pick up straight away by the time Dean woke up.

It was time to call Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

I waited obediently for Dean to return to me, my hands shaking and I felt like my entire Grace was quivering – we were so close, so unbelievably close, and my body felt hot and on fire from Dean's near-death accident. The very thought of my Hunter ceasing to exist caused a great rift to appear in my heart, in what felt like my very core, and the idea shook me, had thrown me completely off balance. Of course I knew it was my job to protect Dean, but this was different – this Demon _knew _us. Not only that, but he hated Dean and Sam, and had poisoned Sam from the very beginning and I shuddered to think of what kind of vendetta he might have up his sleeve.

My fingers itched to hold Dean, to reassure myself that he was okay, almost to the point that when Dean came back, sliding into the Impala and slamming the door hard enough that the suspension creaked, it took all of my self-control not to whine pathetically and bury my face in his neck like when we were children. But by the Father, how I wished to.

"Dean?" I hazarded, finally paying attention to the dark look on my Hunter's face. He looked furious, a small tick in his jaw the only motion in his face as his eyes, once so bright but now darkened with anger and loss, were fixed straight ahead, fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel. I reached out to him, fingertips just brushing over his cheek, where his soul was pushing out, bright under his skin, as though it wanted to flee his body, to escape.

The pain I felt when he flinched away from me is not something I can describe. "Dean," I whispered again, "what's wrong?"

For a long moment the car was still deathly silent, until Dean's eyes closed and he let out a hard breath through his flared nostrils. "Sammy's not gonna help us with this one, Cas," he said, his fingers splaying out, running along the edge of the steering wheel and down the inner seam, forefinger catching in the ring of his keys and hanging there. His eyes flashed with anger. "He's…" He bit out the word; "Busy."

I frowned. What was so important that it could keep Sam away from his brother while they Hunted the thing that had killed their father and intended to rip their family apart? "Doing what?"

He hissed the name; "Ruby."

It took me a second to understand what he was saying, but once I did I immediately turned around, looking over my shoulder as though expecting to see the pair of them through the closed door and the drawn blinds that shielded my view from their apartment rooms. The thought of them together – carnally, the way a man and his wife or an Angel or Demon and their mate should be – made my stomach roll with uneasiness and…and something else. Something that suffused my Grace with the color of Dean's eyes and made heat flare up in my stomach.

Jealousy.

"Does she make him happy?" I asked, eyeing the tense set of Dean's shoulders warily. I felt uneasy, on edge, my wings ruffling slightly to show my anxiety, because I had no idea what to do. Dean was upset, that much was clear, but I wasn't sure which thing hurt him more – Sam's refusal to join him in the Hunt, or the fact that he was doing so to be with his Demon.

Dean growled, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel hard enough that I heard something crack, but Dean didn't curse and showed no signs of physical pain so I had to assume that it wasn't his hand, and he turned to look at me, white fire flashing in his eyes. It made me afraid, for one of the first times in my life, of him. He looked like he was going to hit me, or hurt me in some way, and I flinched away from him in defense – he looked like the monster I had seen in my troubled dreams.

For a long moment, he just stared at me – I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face for what felt like forever. I was still shaking, from the high of the Hunt, from Dean's close call, from the news and from Dean's reaction. I felt weak, vulnerable and I knew it wasn't right to look so _fragile_ in front of my Hunter, the man I was supposed to be protecting, strong for, but it was hard. My heart felt like it was trying to rise up and block my throat and I couldn't meet his eyes. Mine were closed.

After what felt like another moment of forever, I heard him sigh, and then gentle fingers were under my chin, turning my head back towards him. When I dared to open my eyes, his had softened back into the usual look of friendship and affection with which Dean always looked at me. "Cas," he murmured, thumb brushing across my jaw and I tilted my face into his hand, nuzzling close.

"Is it so wrong?" I asked, one hand curling around his wrist so he couldn't pull away, meeting his eyes for the briefest second to catch the flash of confusion that crossed his face. "To love your companion so much?"

"She's a _Demon_, Cas," Dean hissed, venom returning to his voice, but his hand remained so gentle, fingertips warm, gun-callused against my skin, and I sighed, shaking my head. "They can't love."

It was like I was back at Bobby Singer's facility, and felt the first stab of a knife into my shoulder, splitting through tendon and muscle and dangerously close to my heart. It felt as though there was no air left to breathe, pain unlike anything I'd known shooting through my head. "But." I stopped, took a breath, pressed my lips together and I know now how he had watched me, his eyes so expressive and attentive on my face. "But I love you, Dean. Do you think I can't love like that, either?"

He sighed. Of course he did. I felt his fingers withdraw and barely stifled the sound of pain that wanted to escape me. "It's different, Cas," he said, sounding tired, and then the car was starting and I sat back, turning my face away so that he couldn't see it. "What they're doing…it's just sex. Nothing special."

"I think that they can love," I murmured, unable to let that go – I knew they could. They had to. They _had _to, otherwise nothing would keep them bound the way that they were. They were not like Angels, drawn and bound by their natural goodness. There was no reason for them to serve humans at all, and yet they did – they remained loyal to their Masters, their Mistresses, and tore apart those who threatened and hurt them. Azazel's words echoed in my head; _You took away my love. _He had loved Mary just as Ruby loved Sam. They _could._

Dean bit his lip, and the Impala's engine whined as he sped up, pressing his foot down on the acceleration. "Does it matter?" he snapped, fingers white-knuckled on the wheel. "Let him have the little bitch. I'll deal with her later. We're too close to Yellow-Eyes now to get distracted."

And I knew what he was saying to me – _we're not talking about this now, or ever, so shut up _– and I tried to keep my silence, then, folding my wings tightly around myself and I remained quiet for the rest of the drive. When his eyelids were drooping and we could drive no further, I flew us into an unoccupied motel room and made sure he was settled comfortably into bed. I didn't share it with him as I desperately wanted to, like I normally did when I was afraid for him – nose pressed to his neck so that his scent could calm me.

I couldn't. The wounds still felt too raw.

* * *

We eventually did corner Yellow-Eyes. In New Hampshire of all places, and it was raining heavily when his trail finally grew white-hot. We only had one bullet that was a sure-fire way of killing him, and we had to use it properly. The plan was simple – go in, kill, get the Hell outta dodge.

The warehouse was so heavily warded that I had a lot of trouble finding it, but I managed – after a few helpful notes from a Demon we found lurking around the place, sniffing it out because another of his Hunters had found the rogue and wanted it out of his town. The Demon was helpful enough, the Hunter less so when eyeing up Dean's youth, the circles under his eyes, the deadness set into his jaw. He was determined and he would win and not a thing would stand in his way.

It was admirable but he was also running on almost two hours of sleep a night and it wasn't healthy. Even with my regenerative abilities I knew he was struggling.

"Azazel!" There was a crib again, an empty rocking chair in the warehouse, and with a wave of my hand lights flared on, revealing no sigils or dark circles of oil to trap up, on the walls or the ceiling or the floor. The chair was rocking back and forth with no human sitting inside of it. "Azazel!"

"Perhaps he is not here anymore," I hazarded, though I knew that not to be true. Azazel was crafty – he would run Dean into the ground, then give him hope only to have it dashed away. I knew this as surely as I knew anything else.

I should have been surprised, again, when John Winchester appeared to us. But I wasn't.

Dean was.

"…Dad?"

"Son." John smiled, taking a step towards Dean, who was lowering his gun. But no. This was wrong. This was too wrong – the chair and the crib.

"Dean," I said in warning, flaring a wing out to stop my Hunter walking forward. "That is not your father."

"Cas," Dean said, "shut up."

I looked towards him, taken aback that he wouldn't heed my warning at all. He didn't even look on edge – just so overwhelmingly _happy _to see John again and I knew it wasn't him – it _couldn't_ be him. The blackness in his vessel was a dead giveaway, but Dean refused to even acknowledge me, as he lowered his gun and ran forward to embrace his father.

"It's good to see you again, boy," Azazel said, looking over his shoulder at me as he grinned wide, baring sharpened teeth and his eyes flashed yellow. He hugged Dean tightly and I knew he would kill him, then, and I could have done _something, _but I felt frozen with fear. All my life I had protected Dean and now when it really mattered I was _useless._

"Yeah," Dean said, sounding close to tears as he pulled back slightly. I heard a small click. "You too."

The blood splatter was quite impressive, considering the vessel had been dead for quite some time. Dean's face and entire front when he turned around was spattered with blood and bits of flesh, as he wiped at the corner of his mouth distastefully, before grimacing and tucking the empty gun back into his large jacket pocket.

"Come on, Cas," he said, sounding tired and _done_, with everything. "Let's get the fuck outta here."

* * *

He was drunk, on victory or on beer and whiskey I couldn't tell, but he was, pressing me up against the side of the Impala. I knew because he would never act like this sober, never would his hands stray so low and intimate as they were now, clutch tightly in my wings and tug on the soft feathers at the base until I whined and ducked my head in submission against his throat.

"Dean?" I gasped, fingers itching to grab at him, but to either push him away or pull him closer I could not tell. Sensation shot through me like a bullet ricochet, painful and sharp-edged. The touch in my feathers felt good, warm and loving in the way they always had, but there was a dangerous edge of desperation in those touches now, fierce and longing in a way that I hadn't felt since my birth, since Dean's and my separation and I had to wonder where these feelings had come from in him, to be so violent and sudden with me. "Dean, what are you -?"

"You love me," he growled out, tilting his head, biting sharply at the corner of my jaw, hard enough to hurt and I flinched slightly, unable to back away because of the cold press of steel into my back from his beloved car, his body hard and hot in front of me. At a loss of anything else to do, I ran a hand through his hair, trying to guide his head away from such a vulnerable area in my neck when really instinct was demanding I submitted to my Hunter, give him everything, guide and love and protect him even though I knew Dean wasn't in his right mind now.

I had seen Dean drunk before, but never like this. Not even with the women he courted. Never so _rough._

"I…" His words didn't make sense. Of course I loved him, had saved him, but he had been the one to pull the trigger, not me. He had been the one to avenge his family, not I. "Dean?"

"You _love _me," he repeated, drawing back enough that I could see the wildness in his dilated eyes – there was hardly any green left in the iris anymore, and it had been taken over by a swirl of black. I could see myself in them; see the wideness of my own eyes and how my mouth was slack, open and speechless. "After everything I have done to you, everything I have denied you, you still love me. Why?"

It was like asking why the Earth revolves around the sun, or why humans drew in air to breathe. I had no answer for him and anything I could have thought to say felt ridiculous even to my own ears, let alone what my feelings might have sounded like to him.

My hand was still in his hair. I realized this when he tried to pull away but couldn't, and I tensed up a little, dragging my hand down to cup his face. He was so close to me and I could feel the warmth and tension in his body against my own – there was still heat, like a slow-burning fire, smoke curling up between us as we breathed in the cold air, and his eyes told me everything. Those beautiful, expressive eyes. They had light in them again.

"You are perfect," I said to him, honestly, because he was. He snorted and rolled his eyes, ducking them down but I forced him to lift his chin again, for our eyes to meet. He _would _listen. "You are the reason I exist. You are my entire being, Dean Winchester. You are mine."

Why did the words flow so freely now, when they couldn't before? Was it simply that he had nothing left to drive him, and so he was finally focusing on himself – on what he wanted? Was I what he wanted? I could hardly believe…after his reaction to Sam and Ruby…

He breathed out harshly, the sound like a sob, and his eyes closed as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against mine. "Cas…"

"I love you, Dean," I murmured, because I had to. Dean only had me in that moment to comfort him and congratulate him and tell him they were proud – his father was gone, his brother left behind, and I was the only person he had left right then. The moment warmed me, because I hoped he knew that I would never leave him. I could never leave him. "With everything that I am, I love you."

He sighed against me, body sagging a little as though everything holding him up had left him, but that was okay, because I could catch him. His fight was done – he could rest now. "I'm too drunk to drive," he muttered, shaking his head.

"I shall fly us home," I said, even though 'home' for us wasn't much of anywhere at the moment. "We'll get the Impala in the morning." He murmured a sleepy assent, and I clutched him tight as I raised my wings and winged away to the nearest empty motel room. That night I slept pressed as tightly to him as I could. I wasn't going to let him go for a second.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up to a hand stroking through my feathers. During the night I had turned so I was pressed up against Dean's side, my face buried against his collarbone so that I could smell his scent and reassure myself that he was still there, as I had done since we were younger, and one of my wings was flared out and extended over his body to keep him warm instead of the blankets. One of Dean's arms was around my shoulders, holding me close, the other hand firmly embedded in my wing.

It felt intimate, and safe, but we had always slept like that since we were very young. Even in sleep I had to guard him, and I hadn't even needed sleep last night but it had crept up on me – perhaps I could afford to now that our main enemy and the threat to my Hunter was dead.

I blinked, yawning sleeping, and tensed up as Dean's hand continued to stroke through my feathers. They were becoming damp in response to the touch, preparing to be groomed, but there was something in that touch that reminded me of the rough-edged desperation from last night. It was slower, hotter this time, and I shifted in place, pressing up against him more closely as his arm tightened around me.

"I always thought your wings were so cool, Cas," he murmured by way of a 'Good morning', and I made a half-noise, burying my face in his neck again and breathing deep. His scent calmed me down once more, but also made something flare up inside of me as his fingers moved closer to the bare expanse of my back. I flushed a deep red, hiding my face as I felt my wings growing moister. "Ever since I can remember – and I can remember when they were still white. And fluffy like a baby bird's."

I moved to look up at his face, found his eyes locking with mine, soft and still sleepy, half-lidded as he smiled at me. "I've always liked your eyes," I confessed, speaking without thinking, driven by the warmth in my chest at seeing Dean _smile _again. "They were dark for a long time."

The smile faded for a moment, before Dean sighed, rolling onto his side, his hand moving from my wings to my face and I whined softly at the loss, biting my lip as he brushed a thumb under my eye. My wing didn't move from its place as his blanket and I didn't want it to – for the moment, we had nothing to Hunt, nothing to follow, nothing to kill. We were free. We were safe.

"I'm not worth it, Cas," Dean said after a while, still watching my face as though he was searching for something. I don't know what it was he was looking for, but I prayed to the Father he found it.

"Does it matter?" I asked, brow furrowing, wing tightening on instinct around him. "I hatched for you – I have guided and guarded and loved you since you were born, Dean. Don't you dare tell me that my regard for you means nothing."

Dean blinked, pressing his lips together, and I knew he would argue with me until he was blue in the face. So I acted. I stopped thinking and worrying and I acted. What was the worst thing that could happen, anyway?

Dean's mouth was as warm as the rest of him, soft and yielding in a way his body wasn't. I didn't know how to kiss, had never learned or practiced it – never wanted to – but Dean was patient with me. My bottom lip yielded to the press of his teeth, sharp pain shooting down my spine and forcing me to arch into him, it was that strong. His fingers, deft and teasing, dug into my wing again, closer to the base of my spine than he had gone in an action that wasn't purely for grooming me and I gasped, mouth falling open for his tongue to slip inside. The friction was oddly pleasurable, warm and wet and I never wanted it to end – dug my nails into the back of his neck and held him to me as our bodies rocked together and my wing fluttered over him.

"Cas," he murmured against my mouth, his fingers slipping closer to where I was getting wetter, oil seeping out of the glands at the base of my wings, usually used for grooming, but they were producing oil at an almost alarming rate, heat and need settling low in the base of my spine and I gave a little half-whine, nodding eagerly when his fingers edged closer, found the small, wet nub at the base of my wing and _pressed._

"_Dean_," I gasped, dropping my head to bury it in his neck again, trembling with sensation. It all felt so new, hot and needy in a way I had never felt before except in the lonely nights when Dean would be out with a girl and I could feel that heat through our bond, pulsing and demanding and strong. I had never known the touch of a lover, never felt the need for one because Dean was my all and no one could compare to him – my wings trembled where they rested on the bed and on his body, and fire – not like Azazel's taint, but pleasant and _fierce _– was clawing its way up my spine, setting my Grace alight. "Dean, _please_."

"Hush, Cas, I've got you," he whispered, sounding so warm and sure of himself and I pressed closer. Suddenly the touch on my wing was gone and I let out a soft, demanding sound that made him laugh, his breath ruffling my hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. Then his fingers were lacing with mine, guiding my hand down to wrap around his erection. It was soft in my hand, smooth and burning hot and so _hard_, I could feel the throb of blood under my fingertips and I twisted my hand, pulling up to hear him hiss and moan, his hand returning to my neglected feathers again.

I shuddered, biting my lip hard enough to recreate the sting of his own teeth, leaning up to seek out his mouth again, to ground myself in his scent. His free hand carded itself through my hair, soothing and comforting and so gentle that it was making me shake. He felt so good, so _perfect. _I could feel my oil glands leaking down my sides at his touch, his deft and knowing fingers milking them, gentle but firm as he coaxed all of the oil out.

Then, there was a slick hand around my own manhood, trapped between my stomach and Dean's thigh, and without thinking I thrust forward, tightening my grip on him hard enough to make him moan, a low curse bitten back behind his teeth. I kissed him again, and again, matching the rhythm he set on me with my own hand. It was blissful, carnal in a way that felt completely decadent and pure at the same time, because it _wasn't _just sex. I loved Dean, adored him with everything that I am and ever will be, and he was doing the same.

I wanted more. I wanted to give him everything. But I didn't know how to ask. "Dean," I whispered, frustrated with my own failed tongue – my mind was racing but my mouth had been made dumb by his wicked lips and skilled tongue. So I flared my wings high, pushed myself up so that he rolled with me, straddling his thighs so that we could fall in line with each other. His hand felt good, but the two of us together when he spread his fingers and took us both in hand was _perfect_, so good in a way I had never expected.

I pressed down against him, forearms braced on either side of his head as we kissed so that my fingers could stroke through his hair, memorize the arch of his neck as he tilted his head back and allowed me closer to his neck. His fingers had found my wings again, this time the untouched one that hadn't been his blanket, the oil gland swollen and neglected and it was almost embarrassing how easily he managed to make oil spurt out of it, staining his fingers with the honey-yellow color. The room stank with my oil and the scent of his arousal and it seemed like his pulse was loud enough to hear all the way into the other rooms.

"Dean," I whispered, kissing his name into the sheen of sweat starting at the dip of his throat, licking up the salty moisture from his skin, savoring it because it meant that he was alive – we _both_ were – and here with me and I was really having this. He was here and he was mine. "_Dean, _I -."

"Yeah, Cas," he replied, gasping out my name, and I felt myself flush hot all over at how wrecked he sounded – the low, throaty growl of his voice against my ear made my wings tremble and flare out, giving him all the access to them that he wanted. "_Fuck, _have your wings ever done this before?"

I shook my head – never so much at once – it was so new and almost scary in how violent the urges were, now. I wanted to wrap my wings so tightly around Dean, dig my fingers under his skin, cover his muscled torso and the vulnerable curve of his throat with my mouth, suck the skin purple.

"_Dean_." I wanted more, I needed it more than I could stand – the grip of his hand was wondrous, but too soft and gentle; I craved a tight clutch around me, something to ground me and force us so closely together that we became one, for however long he would have me like this. _"_Dean, _please_!"

He breathed out harshly, murmuring my name into the sweaty line where my hair became my neck, below my ear, his fingers removing themselves from my wing with one last long, hot stroke up the arch and along the bone before his wet hand covered the back of my neck, held me close to him as he spread his legs so that I could fall between – I hurried to move around him, wanting to be out of the way for wherever he decided to settle. And then his hand wasn't in my hair anymore, curling around the nape of my neck, but grabbing at my hand which still lay, fisted tightly in the pillows, by his face. His fingers were wet and slick with my oil, and I withdrew when I felt them, looking down into his eyes to try and read what he wanted me to do.

He was smiling, the lazy smile that meant everything was okay, that he was happy, and his eyes were no longer green anymore, overtaken by his wide pupils – cheeks flushed and lips swollen from my bites, shiny and wet, he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I could have stared at him forever.

He arched under me and I hurried to move so that he could, bracing myself on my free hand and lifting off of his body even though every instinct in me demanded I lay down, force him into the bed, rut until that fire in my belly had spread to each corner of my body and exploded out of me.

When Dean moved our hands lower, I hesitated, fingers gripping tight between his. Did he want me to take over where his hand had been? Show him what I liked – wanted? I didn't _know_ what to do, I had always stayed by Dean's side except for the nights when he would bring a woman home, or go to her house and he would tell me not to wait for him. Those nights I had hated – restless, wanting, much like I felt now. I felt _raw_ and aching in a way that was so much more violent and _focused_ than those nights. I had never sought out a companion for this kind of relationship. I didn't know what to do.

That feeling grew when he didn't stop us there, but lower, letting my fingers dip between his spread legs, until my fingertips grazed something dark and secret – I flushed again at the idea of Dean letting me touch him there, when I was positive that no one else had. That he would give that to me was overwhelming and for a moment I froze.

"Are you certain?" I asked, my voice coming out sounding weak and shaky, my wings clenched tightly to my back, as I settled back on my knees between his legs.

He nodded. "Please, Cas," he whispered, letting my hand go so that only I was there, now, my knees pushed tight to the underside of his thighs, as he settled, pushing himself lower on the bed so that I would have more access to him.

My fingers trailed, hot and light, over the crease between his cheeks, until I felt flesh start to give way under my fingertips, muscle relaxing and letting in one of my fingers. He felt even hotter on the inside, as if that was possible, and his body felt like it was sucking me in, gripping so amazingly tightly that I was amazed I could fit at all, even something so small. The thought of pushing in with anything bigger made my Grace tense with anxiety and lust all at once.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, worried for him, my other hand running down the curve of his inner thigh, thumb rubbing gently at the tendon that connected his leg to the rest of him. His expression was tight, forehead creased very slightly but he didn't look to be in pain, for which I was grateful – I could never hurt him. I would rather die.

He shook his head, face smoothing out when I pushed deeper, meeting the eager rise of his hips as he braced himself, feet planting on the bed on either side of me, angled to meet my finger as it sank into him. "No, Cas," he whispered, sounding in awe of me. "It doesn't. Keep going."

I smiled down at him, the warmth in my chest merely getting worse, and leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple, nuzzling his cheek and the dip between that and his nose. Dean turned his face towards me and met my mouth, hand gripping tight into my hair as I sunk my finger as deep into him as it could go, curling it to stroke his insides on the way out, and slicking him up. Somehow then I understood that this was what he wanted – to be like a woman for me, slick and open so that I could be inside of him.

He wanted me as a mate. It amazes me now to think of it as much as it amazed me then.

His body gave way to my second finger as easily as the first, as though he was made for me, opening sweetly to my oil and my touch. I liked the idea of using my oil as lubricant, knowing his body – the darkest and deepest and most intimate part of him – would be marked with my scent, claiming him even if in such a private and secretive way.

Dean's kisses grew more fierce as his body stretched to accommodate my touch, wet fingers dragging through my hair, slicking it back, and my wings found their way to his hands again, brushing hot and hard and claiming and I knew he was staking his possession on me just as much as I was on him. I felt like the heat inside of my body was going to burst out of my mouth, into Dean – he was burning up underneath me and felt as though I was touching the sun.

The need was excruciating, felt like I was going to explode, and I whined, burying my face in his neck to try and ground me. "Dean, please, I need to -." What? What did I need? I wanted to be _inside _of him – I wanted to give him everything and wring pleasure from his body. I wanted to ruin him for anyone else, anything else he would ever have. I _had _to.

Dean gasped quietly, low moan dragging out of him when my fingers pressed up, against something that felt different than the rest of him, harder and much like one of my oil glands. It caused his body to seize in pleasure, heart skipping under my mouth. "Yeah, Cas," he whispered, legs spreading wider, dragging me down to lay closer to him, the tip of my erection just touching against where my fingers were still buried. "Go on. It's okay."

I kissed him again, fingers withdrawing, and he made a sound much like I had made when his fingers left my wings – I didn't want to leave him with that emptiness, and I'll admit I was a little rushed, aligning myself and pushing in faster than I would have, or have since. I now know the human body's need to adjust to their mate, but with Dean, his tight _heat _surrounding me and so desperately pulling me in; I thrust forward on pure instinct, hilting myself into him.

He felt like the touch of pure Grace, his soul faintly glowing underneath his skin as it reached out to me, seeking me out like an old friend and lost love. I could have wept – I wanted to, my face still buried in his neck, both of us shaking hard enough to make the bed rattle. It was perfect, that moment, the both of us wrapped up so tight, Grace and soul touching through our skin.

And when instinct demanded that I move, I followed it, rolling my hips to drag myself out, seeking to hit that spot inside of him again that made him seize up and gasp my name. "_Cas_," he cried out, head thrown back, and I knew I had succeeded, "_yes. Yes." _His breathing was getting ragged, heartbeat flying, fingers gripping me so tight and dragging down my back hard enough to hurt, to force me inside of him with more strength of ferocity. "Yeah, such a good boy, Castiel."

_Yes_. I was. I was bringing my Hunter – my _mate_ – pleasure with my body. With my hands and my manhood and my mouth against his. He was so tight and hot, forcing the fire inside of my heart to spread out, pressure flaring _outwards. _I wouldn't last, even though I wanted to so desperately wait until he had had his pleasure also.

_"Dean_," I moaned, hoping to convey my desperation to him, how close I was, how much I felt as though I had to fly or fall. I held him tightly, wings dipping down to wrap tight around his body, as tightly to me as I could with my arms and my wings. "Dean, I can't – please -."

"It's okay, Cas," he murmured, sounding amused, pressing his mouth to the side of my face. "Come on, Angel, let me have it."

I wanted to give it to him. I wanted to give him everything.

The heat and release I felt when I stiffened, hilted as deep into him as I could go, was much like Azazel's fiery taint inside my head. But so much better, _love_ and _adoration _coloring the fire a bright red and blue, and I clung to him as I shook through my orgasm, breathing in the sweat coming from his skin, listening to the fast thrum of his heartbeat. He bore my weight as I collapsed on him, wings trembling and breathing unsteady, emptying myself inside of him as I came, nuzzling close and just _basking _in his presence. I could feel his neglected hardness against my stomach, knew he hadn't felt this same sensation yet, and as soon as I had recovered enough to take him in hand, he was shaking apart underneath me within two strokes, three twists of my hand, gasping out my name once more as he held me just as tightly.

It seemed like forever before I regained control of myself, until the shaking stopped and I blinked open my eyes. I was still inside of him, his legs framing me and keeping me close, his deft fingers stroking through my wings. I lifted my head, searching out his eyes, found them closed, his face relaxed, breathing deep but he wasn't asleep yet. He looked more relaxed than I had seen him in years, content. And I had made him that way.

"Dean?" I whispered, nuzzling close to him again and burying my nose in his neck. I felt his head turn to place a kiss on my forehead, his hands forsaking my wings now to wrap around my shoulders, holding me close, and I felt so warm, _glowing_ with happiness, and safe in his arms even though I knew it should have been the other way around. But there was nothing else to do. Azazel was dead. Sam was safe with Ruby. Dean was safe with _me_.

For another day the world was perfect.

"I love you too, Cas," he finally said when I felt lethargy overtake me, making my eyelids droop. My wings shivered in response to the words, scarcely daring to believe. One of his hands stroked through my hair and I listened to his steady heartbeat. "Thought you should know that."

"I do," I replied simply, smiling against his flesh. Mine. He was mine, now, and he would be forever. I would make sure nothing would take him from me until it was time for us both to go. "Sleep, Dean," I told him, placing my hand on his chest, over his heart. "I will keep watch."

He sighed heavily, tightening his hold a little. "Nah, Cas," he replied, voice already slurring a little as dreams tugged at his consciousness, sleep threatening to send him under. "Remember? You don't need to do that anymore."

And I did remember. He was safe, and he was mine. That was all I had ever wanted, and all I could ever ask for.

And the world was soft, warm, and my senses were dulling with sleep. It was perfect.

* * *

We stayed away for all of Sam's schooling, because even though Azazel was dead, there were people he had been in contact with. Dean wanted to wipe the slate clean and I could agree, even if I wanted to keep my Hunter close to me and never let him go again, let him settle into something like what had been ripped away from him in childhood, but Dean was stubborn and I had no more will to fight him that I did to hurt him.

We managed to catch Sam's graduation ceremony just in time for them to start the 'S's, and settled down right in the back of the packed auditorium – there were no seats left but that didn't matter to us. I allowed Dean to rest his back against my wing as I stayed close and watched the doors.

When Sam went up on stage, Dean cheered loudest, and I hid my smile against his shoulder.

Dean still had Sam's cell phone number and it wasn't three minutes after the end of the ceremony that he had it pressed up to his ear, huge grin on his face. "Congratulations, nerd," he joked quietly, his manner so different from the last time Sam and he had shared space, and I led the way out of the auditorium, into the large green lawn outside where I knew Dean would prefer to meet up with Sam, if we could. "Yeah, just outside. You think I'd miss this?"

I heard Ruby before Dean saw Sam – the demon chick that I had helped raise whirred loudly when she saw us and I turned in time for her to barrel her way into my arms, her chin pressed tight to my collarbone as my wings wrapped around her in return. She reeked of Sam, his breath on her hair and his scent covering her like a second skin. I knew what I must smell like in return, and she was smiling when we pulled apart enough for me to rest my forehead against hers, stroking a hand through her hair.

"Get a room," Dean muttered under his breath, but there was joy in his voice and then I smelled Sam, heard the steady thump of Dean hugging him and patting him on the back, heard the way Sam's heart stuttered a little in surprise and joy at having his brother there. "Well done, Sammy."

There were tears in his eyes when Sam parted from his brother, and he was smiling in a way I hadn't seen since he was very young. "Thanks, Dean. I…uh…" And he wiped the sleeve of his graduation gown – a strange thing, so billowy and almost silly-looking – across his mouth. "I can't believe you came."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Dean replied, and I knew it to be true – we'd dropped everything when he learned that Sam's graduation would have been two days away, and drove non-stop. He wouldn't let me fly him; he had to be tired, but I couldn't see it from his face. "I…"

I knew what would follow would be a long and difficult conversation, for the both of them – they had not parted on good terms, barely as more than brothers, and so I tucked Ruby under my wing and began to lead her away. "They'll be safe," I promised her, knowing that I would be able to feel if Dean was distressed through the bond we shared. She still looked distrustful and a little uneasy, and I was proud of her for not forgetting her training.

"It's been a long time, Castiel," she said by way of response once we had cleared most of the students gathered, with their parents and friends and one or two Angels and Demons in the mix. I'm sure we may have looked a sight, Demon and Angel cuddling together and whispering under our breaths, but it didn't matter – our Hunters were reunited and I had missed Ruby, had hoped she would remember her training and keep Sam safe should danger ever befall him. "How have you been?"

"Azazel is dead," I said, knowing Dean would be telling Sam the same thing. Her eyes widened, and went black briefly with hate, her mouth twisting.

"Good," she said. "But how are _you_?"

We were on the very edge of the lawn when she asked me that, shade from the trees just touching our own silhouettes. Another perfect Californian day. We had never spent more than a day in California before and I had to wonder why. The weather was so pleasant, a lovely breeze that made me want to stretch my wings and feel the wind comb through my feathers like the gentle touch of my Hunter's hands.

"I am happy," I finally said to her, tilting my head down to look into her eyes. They had returned to the normal brown color. She had grown up so much from the young chick that I had helped to raise and trained. I wondered if the knife I had sliced into her side had left a scar. "How is Sam? How are you?"

"Well," Ruby said, smiling wide and proud of her Hunter. Did my face look like that when I thought of Dean? I didn't doubt it for a second. "Sam studies hard, and he hasn't forgotten. I made sure of that." At that, her voice went sad, her eyes cast downwards as her dark soul rolled inside of her. When I looked at her, I did not feel the revulsion with which I had seen Azazel's soul. She was so much gentler than he. "Have you come to try and get him to Hunt again?"

I sighed and shook my head, one wing extending out to cover her shoulders. "I cannot imagine a better place for Sam than here, learning, with you by his side. I think Dean has come to realize that, now. He's…he's better, now."

"You smell like him," she said, looking back up at me. "A lot."

"As do you of Sam," I replied with a smile, making her blush. "It'll be okay, Ruby," I added, turning to rest my forehead against hers once more until I felt her shoulders relax. "I promise."

"Cas!" Dean. I looked up at the sound of my name, saw Dean and Sam walking towards us, one of Dean's arms slung around Sam's shoulders which, given how much Sam had grown, made him bend down comically to walk beside his older but now-smaller brother. I smiled at the both of them and let Ruby go, stepping close to Dean's side as she went to Sam's. "We're gonna go grab so dinner, Angel, you coming?" he asked, one hand reaching up to rub gently at the back of my neck, against my skull and it felt so relaxing, and I pressed my nose to his neck on instinct and breathed deep.

"Of course, Dean," I said, as though anything else was pure idiocy.

He grinned. "Good." And then let me go, taking off back towards his car. Sam threw me a look before he was being dragged along, and I hoped that I could convey with my eyes that, yes, Dean was okay. We were okay. Ruby and I said no more as we followed the brothers to the Impala and drove away.

Dinner was…everything. Sam and Dean talked, a lot, about everything that had happened in the past four years of their lives. Not once did one of Dean's arm leave the back of my section of the booth, thigh pressed tight to mine, sitting close enough that one of my wings was trapped uncomfortably but I wouldn't have moved for Heaven and Earth.

When Dean told Sam that John had died, I felt a pang of sorrow for the man who had fought so hard to keep me by Dean's side, only to end up never knowing if his mission had ever been completed – had he still been alive with Azazel's soul inside of him? Father, I hope not.

Sam took it hard; how he could not have known I had no idea, but then again, Dean and I had practically fallen off the radar. Maybe he had thought we were dead also. And he ducked his head, hand clenched into a fist, breathing deep. I could read it in Ruby's eyes how much she wished to hold her Hunter, to comfort him in his sorrow, and I am sure that it was Dean's presence that held her back.

I nudged my foot to hers under the table. _Go on_.

Sam wrapped an arm around her with as little hesitation as Dean had with me, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Dean didn't even break stride, sipping his beer and taking another bite of hamburger. I was proud of him, then – perhaps he would accept Ruby, now, as he had accepted me. Demons could love. I was as sure of it as I knew I could.

When he did look up at them, green eyes and tight mouth giving nothing away, I was quick to nuzzle into his side, forcing my wing out against his back and wrapping the other one tight around the both of us, resting in his lap. I couldn't see his face – mine was buried in his neck – but eventually he relaxed.

One step at a time. But I was proud of him.

That night we stayed in Sam and Ruby's apartment – Stanford was apparently very generous towards families who were privileged enough to own demons, and though he had a roommate apparently the man was never present and so Dean and I were allowed the second bedroom instead of the motel. It was late and I was tired, sleepy and relaxed, but I could not sleep. Dean was buzzing next to me.

I sighed sleepily, laying a wing over him and listening to the steady beat of his heart. "What's the matter?" I asked.

He sighed. "There's no other shoe."

…What? "Shoe?" I repeated, raising my head, hand flattening against his chest to support myself. He was staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open and not a little bit tired.

"No shoe," he repeated, shaking his head a little. Then, he blew out a breath, smiling wide. Maybe he had had more to drink than I'd originally thought. "Waiting to drop on us. I mean…small hunts, yeah, but nothing Sammy can't take out on his own. There's…there's nothing left. To get the drop on us, I mean."

"…Did you think there was before?" I hazarded, unsure of what else to say.

Dean didn't answer for so long, I thought he might have fallen asleep again. Then; "Do you wish it was different?" he asked. "Any of it? I've seen them, Cas, I know what they did at the facility mom sent you to."

"Not in the slightest," I whispered, burying my face in his neck as I used to do when we were children. His hand went to my hair, stroking it away from my face. "I wish you had a mother. I wish we hadn't lost so much time with Sam, and I wish John was alive. He would be as proud of you as I am. As we all are."

At that, he breathed out a shaky sigh, his hand leaving my head. "I guess," he said, turning towards me and instead wrapping his arms tight around me, pulling me against his chest. He was so warm, his heartbeat steady and slow, and sleep was finally starting to creep into his voice. "I don't know, though, this is kinda cool too."

I smiled, closing my eyes when his breathing started to even out. Yes. Finally. I entered into meditation with my brothers and sisters and felt their different joys as they slept close to their own Hunters, felt the occasional stirring as one had to invade on bad dreams, felt the small ebb and flow as each entered into and left the meditation.

Dean's sleep was happy and undisturbed, and I wrapped my wings tight around him, ignoring the small discomfort of his weight on one of my wings, and rested. Finally. Everything was perfect.


End file.
